'^y^ 


Il^l 


THE 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


ENDOWED  BY  THE 

DIALECTIC  AND  PHILANTHROPIC 

SOCIETIES 


PS 3503 
.0  36 

L6 
1895 


This  book  is  due  at  the  WALTER  R.  DAVIS  LIBRARY 
the  last  date  stamped  under  "Date  Due."  If  not  on  hoi 
nnay  be  renewed  by  bringing  ii  tp  the  library. 

£;  :. U-iAl 


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1^ 


^:^^ 


^ 


The  Love  Story  of  Ursula  Wolcott 


/1/A^-T 

^\'^\ 


The  Love  Story  of   Pss 
Ursula  Wolcottf^}^  ^  ^^ 

L  ^ 

Being  a  Tale  in  Verse  of  the  Time  of  the  GREAT         f^f^ 
REVIVAL  IN  NEW  ENGLAND.     Written 
by  CHARLES  KNOWLES  BOLTON, 
Librarian  in  the  Town  of  Brook- 
line,  Massachusetts 

With  Designs  by  Ethel  Reed 


Boston :   6,  Beacon  Street 

Lamson,  Wolffe,  and  Company 

New  York  :  156,  Fifth  Avenue 
MDCCCXCV 


"^'Kt^ 


Copyright,  1895, 

By  Lamson,  Wolffe,  &  Co. 

All  rights  reserved. 


To  their  first  reader 

these  traditions  of  Ursula  Wolcott 

are  dedicated 


Preface  to  the  Reader 

IN  good  time  Roger,  the  son  of  Simon  ^A^olcott 
and  Martha  Pitkin,  was  married.  His  thirteenth 
child,  Ursula  ^A^olcott,  was  born  at  ^A^indsor,  Con- 
necticut (now  South  Windsor),  30th  October,  1724. 
In  1 741  her  father  became  Chief  Justice  of  the  Supe- 
rior Court,  and  in  later  years  a  Major-General  and 
Governor. 

Ursula  married  her  second  cousin  Matthew  Gris- 
wold  of  Lyme  nth  November,  1743,  and  died  5th 
April,  1788.  The  story  here  related  is  true,  both  as 
to  the  lady  who  would  '*  wait  a  little  "  and  in  fact 
waited  a  life-time,  and  also  as  to  the  scene  on  the 
stairs.  Ursula's  husband  and  her  son  Roger  Gris- 
wold  were  Governors  of  Connecticut,  as  were  her 
father,  brother,  and  nephew. 


WAS    URSULA    whose    gentle 

tread 
Bore    round    the   broad-rimmed 

wheel  of  oak 
That    whirled,    and    hung,    and 
whirled  again. 
As  though  she  timed  it  with  her  heart. 
And  when  it  stopped,  her  fingers  ran 
Over  the  spokes  until  it  whirled, 
A  moment  hung,  and  whirled  again. 


And  while  the  distaff  loosed  the  flax 
That  slipped  between  her  hands  she  sang 

W^hile  I  sit  here,  while  I  sing, 
Spinning,  spinning,  spinning. 
Soars  the  skylark  on  its  wing. 
Soaring  upward  ring  on  ring. 
Spinning,  spinning,  spinning. 

\A^hile  my  fingers  busy  are, 
Spinning,  spinning,  spinning. 
Comes  a  horseman  from  afar, 
Comes  by  valley,  cliff  and  scar, 
Spinning,  spinning,  spinning. 

And  as  she  turned  and  looked  without 

She  pouted  playfully  and  said : 

"  'Tis  only  Cousin  Matthew  comes." 

The  ancient  Windsor  elms  that  arched 
The  village  highway  promised  peace 
To  all  who  passed  beneath  their  boughs ; 
And  he,  sitting  upon  his  horse,  — 

2 


Unurged  those  many  leagues  behind,  — 
Had  more  of  peace  that  April  day 
Than  for  a  twelvemonth  he  had  known. 

"  You  drive  too  madly  for  a  Turk, 
Too  slowly  for  an  Englishman," 
A  laughing  voice  accosted  him. 
"  He  is  so  awkward,  so  confused 
By  every  girl,"  she  sighed ;  and  he. 
Recovering  at  length,  replied : 
"  Then  am  I  fit,  Miss  Ursula, 
To  drive  your  mother's  spinning-wheel  ?  " 
"  A  woman's  task  is  not  so  light 
That  any  man  can  come  to  it 
With  fingers  hardened  at  the  plow." 

While  I  sit  and  turn  the  wheel, 
Spinning,  spinning,  spinning. 
Some  one  brave  and  some  one  leal, 
Some  one  strong  will  come  and  kneel, 
While  I  'm  spinning,  spinning. 


"  Now,  Cousin  Matthew,  sit  no  more 
So  moody  in  a  corner  there ; 
If  you  are  brave  then  you  should  kneel." 
And  when  her  lips  had  spoken  thus 
Her  heart  repented  for  the  words, 
Since  wounded  love  had  come  to  brood 
Above  him,  as  the  thrush  torn-winged 
Croons  ceaselessly  on  some  low  bough. 
"  Dear  Cousin  Matthew,"  she  exclaimed, 
And  then  she  knew  not  how  to  speak ; 
But  in  the  little  hand  she  laid 
Across  his  hard  and  sunburned  palm 
There  was  a  bond  of  sympathy 
That  warmed  him  toward  her  gentleness. 
"  I  'm  going  there  no  more,"  he  said. 
Half  gladly,  half  regretfully, 
Raising  his  eyes  and  looking  down 
The  southern  road.     "  It  *s  ended  now. 
^ow  many  times,  since  she  and  I 
Danced  that  first  night,  my  heart  has  turned 

4 


To  her ;  how  many  times  my  thought 
Has  builded  castles  in  these  woods 
And  meadows  where  we  two  might  live. 
Ah,  Ursula,  if  any  man 
Loves  you  as  I  have  worshipped  her 
These  hopeless  yet  too  happy  years, 
You  could  not  but  be  merciful 
To  such  a  heart. 

But  she  ?     She  is 
So  beautiful,  so  cold,  so  wise  ! 
All  through  the  autumn  afternoons 
I  Ve  followed  down  the  river's  shore 
To  be  with  her,  to  hear  her  voice, 
To  look  within  her  eyes  for  some 
Love-token ;  Cousin  Ursula, 
She  could  not  love,  she  does  not  know 
What  love  should  be ;  she  only  knows 
That  women  marry ;  she  is  wise. 
I  Ve  placed  her  beauty  in  the  stars 
And  knelt  to  her.     I  Ve  taken  her 

5 


Into  my  heart,  and  only  asked 

A  little  love,  a  little  love. 

And  every  time  she  answered  me 

With  all  the  sweetness  that  is  hers, 

With  all  the  freshness  on  her  lips : 

'  Wait,  Matthew,  wait ;  be  patient,  dear. 

And  give  me  just  a  little  time.* '' 

His  words  that  came  unwillingly 
In  other  days,  forged  hot  and  sere 
Like  sparks  struck  out  beneath  the  iron. 
And  Ursula  sat  breathless,  cowed 
Beneath  resentment  stern  and  deep. 
Stirred  from  his  long  enduring  soul. 
"  Yes,  Ursula,"  he  said,  "  she  hoped 
To  keep  me  subject  till  she  knew 
Another  would  not  make  her  his, 
And  then  she  would  have  thrown  to  me 
A  rose  he  would  not  stoop  to  wear. 
I  stood  before  her  with  my  hat 
Clutched  tight  between  my  finger-nails. 

6 


*  What  shall  your  answer  be  ?  *  I  said. 

*  A  little  time,  good  Matthew,  please,' 
She  sighed ;  I  bowed  and  answered  her 
*A  lifetime  you  shall  have;  good-day.' 
And  having  spoken,  left  her  there." 

A  hush  came  over  all  the  room ; 
The  spinning-wheel  no  longer  moved, 
And  Ursula,  wide-eyed  and  awed. 
Looked  steadfastly  at  Matthew's  face ; 
Then  like  the  breaking  of  a  storm 
Fell  forward  sobbing  on  her  wheel. 
Matthew  in  silence  rose  and  stood 
A  moment  like  an  awkward  child. 
And  then  went  quietly  away. 


HE  morning  sun  climbed  silently 
JThe  hidden  slopes  that  face  the 

sea, 
[While  all  the  woodland  sweep  to 
west 

Was  shrouded  deep  in  night.  And  she, 
With  eyes  awaiting  day,  slept  on, 
Her  cheek  upon  her  bended  arm. 
Which  held  at  bay  the  surge  of  pink 
That  trembled  round  the  disk  of  snow 


Its  impress  made,  and  rioted 

Out  to  her  very  finger-tips. 

But  when  the  sun  had  reached  the  dawn 

It  broke,  running  in  myriad  ways 

Like  golden  ripples  through  the  world. 

It  tinged  the  leaves,  it  warmed  the  buds, 

It  pierced  with  fire  the  river's  heart. 

Then  through  her  lashes  one  by  one 

It  sought  the  cradle  of  her  eyes 

And  whispered  that  the  day  was  come. 

She  sighed  a  verv  little  then. 

And  smiled  and  opened  wide  her  eyes, 

And  said  so  softly  that  the  sound 

Echoed  between  her  parted  lips  : 

"  He  will  not  go  to  her  again." 

So  all  that  day  upon  the  stairs 

And  through  the  hall  there  swept  a  low 

Sweet  voice  attuned  between  her  joy 

And  his  distress. 

At  night  she  walked 

9 


Along  the  path  that  wandered  out 
Uncertainly  to  meet  the  road. 
She  stooped  to  pluck  some  sturdy  weed 
That  hid  a  timid  Mayflower's  head, 
And  raised  her  eyes  now  west  now  east 
To  scan  the  home-turned  laborers. 
Her  Cousin  Matthew  lingered  on 
Until  his  men  had  passed  along, 
And  then  came  toward  her  with  a  step 
That  told  his  weariness.     For  him 
The  turning  furrow  covered  in 
The  sere  and  withered  foliage 
That  touched  with  life  the  former  spring. 
His  steady  hand  upon  the  plow 
Felt  stronger  that  the  past  should  lie 
Beneath  the  soil,  enriching  it. 
For  these  immortal  tyrannies  — 
The  pains  that  search  the  mystery 
Of  hope,  of  longing  and  despair  — 
We  call  them  sorrows  to  be  shunned 

10 


Till  we  have  suffered,  then  are  they 
The  sources  of  a  patient  joy. 

They  walked  together  under  trees 
Whose  branches  held  the  lingering  sun 
That  streaked  the  purple  shadow  forms 
Beneath  with  labyrinths  of  light. 
And  as  it  reddened  on  the  rim 
The  purples  sobered  into  green 
And  blended  with  the  coming  night. 
Her  silent  presence  rested  him. 
Her  instinct  equalled  all  his  years. 
'T  was  not  the  movement  of  an  arm, 
Or  shadow  'neath  a  wave  of  hair, 
Or  haunting  rhythm  of  a  word. 
For  these  were  hers ;  but  he  had  found 
Her  noiseless  figure  by  his  side 
An  all-pervading  influence. 
At  last  they  spoke  of  planting  time. 
The  barley  sowed,  the  fence  repaired 
That  circled  with  its  rails  the  field ; 

II 


And  hayseed  ready  to  be  sowed 
And  flaxseed  for  the  nearing  June. 

The  uneventful  summer  days 
Hung  shrouded  in  a  maze  of  heat 
That  warmed  the  slow  maturing  grain. 
And  when  the  tassels  turned  to  gold 
The  reapers  stood  and  flashed  the  flint 
Upon  their  scythes,  and  all  day  long 
Crossed  and  recrossed  the  waving  field, 
Stopping  at  noon  to  eat  their  fare 
Of  bacon,  cheese,  and  sweetened  rum. 
And  scarcely  had  the  meadow  hay 
Scented  the  barns  from  loft  to  floor 
When  barley  must  be  harvested 
And  sent  to  mill. 

'T  was  August  now  ; 
The  flax  still  ripened  in  the  sun. 
The  fruit  still  hung  upon  the  boughs, 
And  Ursula  with  restless  hands 
Toyed  with  the  sampler  which  had  lain 

12 


Unfinished  long.     Across  the  room 
Her  Cousin  Matthew  held  his  peace. 
"You  find  it  lonely,"  she  had  said, 
Half  echoing  his  last  remark. 
"  I  find  it  very  dull  and  drear," 
He  answered  her ;  "  I  sometimes  hoped 
To  find  companionship  in  books. 
But  they  are  cold,  so  cold  and  grim." 
He  rose  the  while  he  spoke,  and  she, 
Intent  upon  his  words,  forgot 
Her  work  and  listened  as  he  said : 
"  The  heart  alone  is  quick  and  warm." 


13 


PON  a  mid-stream  mossy  rock, 
Encircled  by  the  checkered  flow 
Of  water,  curbed  until  it  foamed 
And  crested  like  a  stormy  sea, 
Sat  Ursula.    The  tilting  leaves 
That  cradled  each  soft  falling  breeze 
Left  flickering  shadows  on  the  stream 
And  on  her  face ;  the  flecks  of  light 
That  filtered  through  shone  golden  brown 
Upon  the  calmer  water's  bed 


And  touched  the  red  that  warmed  her  cheeks 
Into  a  kindred  hue.     For  thus 
Does  Nature  like  a  mother  soul 
Assimilate  all  life  with  hers, 
Attune  all  measures  with  her  own. 

She  sat  in  quiet  revery, 
Half  heedless  of  the  murmuring, 
The  babble  and  the  twittering 
That  intermingled  with  the  wind. 
"  'T  is  strange,"  she  said,  "  it  is  so  strange." 
And  as  she  spoke,  her  thought  was  lost 
In  musing  on  her  own  low  voice ; 
She  hearkened  as  it  echoed  back 
Along  the  pathway  to  the  mind 
That  gave  it  birth. 

"  It  is  so  strange 
To  be  alone.     These  eighteen  years 
The  mystery  of  things  to  me 
Was  never  strange,  for  as  a  child 
I  was  a  part  of  all  the  wide 

15 


Weird  universe,  a  part  of  each 
Law's  rite  incomprehensible  — 
So  simple  that  they  each  sufficed 
For  my  companionship  ;  and  now  "  — 
She  reached  her  arms  above  the  stream 
And  turned  her  pink  palms  toward  the  sun, 
And  her  white  fingers,  orange  rimmed, 
Slowly  unlocked  their  trellised  bond 
As  she  exclaimed,  "  It  all  is  strange." 
Far  down  the  dusty  noonday  road 
A  sound  of  jarring  voices  rose, 
And  Ursula  heard  running  steps 
And  taunts  and  flouts.    Then  drawing  near 
And  standing  on  the  tangled  weeds 
That  crept  into  the  yellow  sand 
In  spite  of  hoof  and  tire  and  heel, 
She  saw  a  motley  company : 
The  portly  constable  came  first, 
Knitting  his  brows  to  hide  the  sun 
That  stole  beneath  his  Monmouth  hat 

i6 


Which  rose  three-cornered  on  his  great 

White  goat-hair  wig ;  and  by  his  side 

A  meek  and  gentle  minister 

Who   preached   God's   word   from   out   his 

heart 
And  witnessed  it  in  every  line 
Of  his  pale  face  ;  and  after  him 
Unflinching  followers  who  sang 
The  saving  grace  of  penitence 
Nor  cared  for  heat  nor  dust  nor  jeers. 
Mile  after  mile  the  little  band 
Had  marched — men  clad  in  silk  and  lace 
With  men  in  linsey-woolsey  stuff, 
Women  in  hoops  too  wide  for  pews 
Or  trails  that  trolloped  in  the  mud, 
And  rosy  girls  in  homespun  gowns. 
Through    Branford,    Durham,    Hartford, 

went 
The  banished  minister  of  God 
From  constable  to  constable, 

17 


A  branded  "  vagrant  **  by  the  law 
Because  he  dared  to  preach  the  word 
In  parish  borders  not  his  own. 

*'  For  those  who  sang  of  sunny  days 
And  those  who  sorrowed  he  had  cheer ; 
Yet  could  he  walk  through  lonely  ways 
And  find  communion  ever  near. 

*•  The  world  was  sweeter  for  his  care, 
The  heights  were  won  he  sought  to  win ; 
For  love  through  him  made  all  things  fair, 
And  all  things  fair  through  love  are  kin." 

At  nightfall  when  the  stars  came  out 
He  stood  beneath  the  creaking  sign 
That  gave  each  inn  a  name,  and  there 
Exhorted  those  who  gathered  round, 
Lashing  their  consciences  with  truth 
Till  contrite  tears  coursed  down  their  cheeks. 
When  his  weak  frame  could  do  no  more 
He  bade  good  Philemon  Robbins  pray  — 

i8 


Pray  for  the  magistrates  who  sat 
A  twelvemonth  to  discover  crime 
In  what  he  taught  at  Branford  church ; 
Pray,  too,  for  that  devoted  band 
Who  like  himself  would  not  permit 
The  stranger  in  their  gates  to  go 
An  exile  without  hearts  to  cheer 
The  way,  and  ask  a  benison 
Upon  the  upturned  faces  there, 
The  palsied  pauper  in  his  rags, 
The  red  man  in  his  cloak  of  skins. 
The  haggard  soldier  from  the  wars 
Slow  dying  with  the  Cuban  plague, 
The  country  folk  for  miles  around. 
And,  too,  the  landlord  rubicund 
And  wise. 

While  Ursula  stood  near. 
Half  comprehending  this  great  strife 
That  burned  in  every  village  street 
And  blazed  abroad  the  bitterness 

19 


That  cast  out  love,  she  turned  again 
To  her  first  thoughts  and  found  in  them 
The  balm  of  peace. 

And  while  she  mused 
Her  father  came  and  stood  with  her. 
His  scarlet  broadcloth  coat,  its  front 
Adorned  with  buttons  bright  as  gold 
Set  in  long  vellum  button-holes, 
His  cuffs  of  lace,  his  ruffles  starched 
Like  snow,  the  cockade  in  his  hat  — 
These  all  proclaimed  his  dignity. 
He  touched  her  hand,  and  pressing  it 
Said,  "  Come,  my  child,  the  day  is  warm." 
And  as  they  walked  men  bowed  the  head 
And  women  courtesied  to  him. 


20 


HE  sound  of  voices  died  away, 
But  overhead  complainingly 
The  bluebird  flew  with  whirr  of 

wings, 
The    tree-toad    trilled    a    coming 

storm. 
And  from  the  parching  meadow  grass 
The  katydid  proclaimed  the  heat. 
"  The  law  is  often  perfected 
By  lawlessness,"  her  father  said; 


"  Their  overzeal,  their  ecstasy, 
Their  bold  assurance  that  the  truth 
Is  theirs  alone,  will  strain  the  cords 
Which  gird  our  freedom  of  belief. 
But  when  their  hearts  are  calm  again 
These  slackened  cords  will  bind  no  more. 
A  tidal  wave  sets  wider  bounds 
To  hem  a  tranquil  sea." 

"  His  face," 
Cried  Ursula,  "  his  face  was  pale 
And  marked  with  pain ;  I  did  so  grieve 
For  him."    Her  eyelids  filled  with  tears. 
And  his  kind  hand  upon  her  cheek 
Bespoke  his  tender  sympathy. 

Silence,  that  husbandman  of  thought, 
Kept  equal  ministry  with  each. 
The  grave  chief  justice  pondering 
On  weightier  matters  than  the  law. 
A  solitary  darkening  cloud 

22 


Eclipsed  the  sun,  and  thunder  crashed 
And  rumbled  ominously  on. 

^A/'hen  they  had  gone  a  little  way 
They  stopped  beneath  a  farmer's  shed 
\A/'hose  terraced  sides  were  witnesses 
To  their  first  century  of  rain. 
Each  shingle,  fluted  deep  along 
The  softer  grain  with  sharp-edged  channels, 
And  hollowed  out  beneath  the  drip 
From  tier  to  tier,  was  stained  with  years 
And  shaded  to  a  silver  gray. 
Then  through  her  memory  there  ran 
An  ancient  song  of  childhood  days : 

The  dew  in  the  grass 
Hung  pearls  on  its  spears, 
And  we  loved  them,  alas  ! 
Till  the  sun  in  its  pass 
Decoyed  them  away. 
But  the  sun  when  it  seres 

23 


In  the  heat  of  the  day 
Let  them  fall  on  the  grass 
In  a  shower  of  tears. 

When  the  first  burst  of  rain  had  come 
And  left  a  quiet  time  for  speech 
He  said :  "  I  see  that  wistfulness 
Which  tells  me  of  your  heart's  unrest ; 
That  wistfulness  that  finds  no  calm 
In  pleasures  that  once  gave  content ; 
But  looking  into  unseen  ways 
Yearns  ever  for  the  promised  joys, 
And  ever  yearning  teaches  you 
To  hope.    I  see  new  dreams  that  live 
In  other  worlds  so  far  away 
Eyes  cannot  follow,  but  must  rest 
Limpid,  letting  the  soul  look  through 
To  find  the  heart's  new-born  desire. 
I  would  not  trespass  by  one  word 
Too  much,  dear  child ;  but  keep  good  cheer 
And  know  that  its  fulfilment  means 

24 


A  peace  that  has  not  been  before. 
Your  happiness  is  our  first  thought 
And  what  you  wish  is  our  intent." 
She  pressed  his  hand  in  gratitude 
Nor  dared  to  trust  her  voice  to  speak. 


25 


HE  is  most  truly  fair  to-day, 
He   said,  who    stood    beside    his 

horse, 
Ready  to  mount  but  looking  back 
To  where  she  stood  upon  the  steps, 
Crowned  by  an  overhanging  vine 
Whose  purple  clusters  touched  her  hair. 
She  must  be  very  fair,  he  mused, 
And  then  he  glanced  at  her  and  saw 
Her  slender  figure,  clad  in  white, 


In  silhouette  against  the  door, 

Erect,  with  girlish  dignity, 

Yet  bourgeoning  with  tenderness. 

I  would  that  she  were  mine,  he  thought. 
Were  mine  to  minister  to  her. 
Were  mine  that  I  might  weep  with  her, 
That  I  might  feel  her  tears  for  me 
In  my  distress,  were  mine  to  fold 
My  dreams  about  in  happy  hours, 
To  share  the  silence  of  great  joy. 

But  she  who  stood  there  could  not  hear. 
The  afternoon  was  wearing  on. 
The  mist  that  fled  before  the  sun 
Lay  under  trees  and  in  the  glades, 
And  crept  into  the  open  fields. 
Hiding  the  grain  with  wreaths  of  white. 
The  horse  was  restive  for  the  start. 
And  Matthew  stroked  his  arching  neck 
And  patted  him. 

'T  was  Ursula 
27 


Who  spoke :  "  What  said  you,  Cousin  Mat- 
thew ?  " 
He  looked  at  her  in  mute  surprise 
And  wondered  if  she  read  his  thought. 
But  no,  there  was  no  change  in  her. 
He  answered :  "  Nothing,  Ursula," 
And  mounting,  waved  her  his  farewell. 

The  road  to  Lyme  is  long  and  lone. 
He  pondered  in  his  solitude ; 
And  first  her  form  appeared  to  him 
With  all  its  subtle  beauteousness ; 
Her  snowy  dress  before  his  eyes 
Dimmed  all  the  passing  scenery  — 
The  moon  upon  the  eastern  hills, 
And  its  red  image  in  the  stream 
Below. 

Her  gentle  eyes  shut  out 
The  evening  sky,  and  seeing  naught 
But  her  he  knew  that  Ursula 
Was  everything  and  all  to  him, 

28 


And  while  he  journeyed  he  resolved 

To  claim  her  heart  when  he  should  come 

Again. 

But  when  the  moon  had  waned, 
And  he  had  come  to  stand  before 
Her  radiance  of  youth  and  health 
He  faltered.    Thus  again  it  was 
His  lips  were  silent  while  his  heart 
Would  bid  him  speak ;  and  she  again 
Spoke  first :  "  What  said  you,  Cousin  Mat- 
thew?" 
There  was  a  little  wistfulness 
In  what  she  said  that  puzzled  him. 
He  knew  not  why.     But  he  replied : 
"  I  did  say  nothing,  Ursula.*' 
He  fretted  at  the  passing  hours 
And  longed  to  tell  her  of  his  hope. 
Must  life  go  by  unsatisfied  ? 
Are  dreams  so  cherished  but  to  die  ? 
Another  day  had  dawned  at  last, 

29 


And  Matthew  riding  toward  the  door 

Heard  her  light  step  upon  the  stairs 

And  entering  he  found  her  there. 

She  leaned  upon  the  banister, 

With  fingers  clasped  about  the  spindles ; 

And  tears  he  saw  were  lingering 

To  dim  her  eyes. 

His  pulse  was  quick, 
And  yet  he  checked  his  eagerness. 
"  It  surely  cannot  be,"  he  thought, 
"  It  could  not  be  that  she  would  care." 
The  clock  beat  loudly  through  the  hall 
To  make  the  stillness  yet  more  still. 
And  Ursula,  with  steady  voice 
That  trembled  ere  the  words  were  done, 
Began :  "  What  said  you,  Cousin  Matthew?" 
And  he,  as  one  who  comes  almost 
To  comprehend,  said  thoughtfully : 
"  I  did  say  nothing,  Ursula." 
The  color  faded  from  her  cheeks ; 

30 


She  spoke  so  timidly  and  low 

He  scarcely  heard  her  plaintive  words : 

"  'T  is  time  you  did/' 

A  little  while 
Had  passed,  and  hearing  no  one  move, 
The  grave  chief  justice  looked  within. 
He  saw  her  still  upon  the  stairs, 
Sobbing  as  gently  as  a  child, 
And  Matthew  gazing  lovingly 
Upon  her  face  and  holding  fast 
Her  hands  in  his. 

And  seeing  this 
He  turned  away  and  left  them  there. 


31 


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UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HIU 


00034330643 


